


off-duty

by monsoons



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsoons/pseuds/monsoons
Summary: “Love you,” Jeno says and his smile is so radiant, so soft at the edges where it reaches his eyes, that Donghyuck knows he’d do anything to see it again, even at the threat of being buried in last season’s Michael Kors.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 1
Kudos: 62





	off-duty

What happens at fashion week stays at fashion week. 

It's the industry’s favorite knock-off catch phrase, usually reserved for intern meltdowns and bathroom shenanigans at after parties (neither of which are exclusive), but one that Donghyuck always finds to be true when he’s knee-deep in taffeta, his blood content more cold brew than water and sleep a concept as abstract as the horizon.

It’s even more true now, he thinks, chest to chest with Jeno in an unmarked closet. Beyond the closed doors, he can hear the bustle of people streaming back and forth, high octane chunks of conversation flying between the clicks of rolling racks and designer soles against the linoleum floor. The show starts in an hour, yet here he is, setting his clipboard down atop a stack of cardboard boxes and flipping on the light switch.

“You look good.”

Despite himself, Donghyuck feels a smile grow on his lips. “I think I should be the one saying that.”

Jeno cocks his head to the side, but his glossy mouth spreads into an easy grin. He’s just had his makeup done when Donghyuck caught his eye through the sea of occupied chairs, and no matter how much Donghyuck had shaken his head, fingers pressed against his headset, Jeno had still followed him. He was stubborn in that way. After all, being at the top casting list for almost every fashion week opened many velvet ropes— Jeno is used to getting what he wants.

“I missed you,” Jeno says, dropping his arms on Donghyuck’s shoulder. He’s close enough now for the soft scent of his cologne to wash over Donghyuck, a lungful that Donghyuck breathes in greedily. It’s been too long, a month dragged out into some more weeks, between photoshoots and commercials and a supporting role in a Netflix series. Not that Donghyuck hadn’t been busy as well, what with sorting out the final weeks leading up to Renjun’s show, schmoozing columnists and attending fittings and coordinating every little task under the Parisian sun. Though even then, Jeno’s absence hung in the back of his mind, swinging to the forefront with every rushed phone call, every passing text.

“Me too.”

What do they say— absence makes the heart grow fonder? Donghyuck is not sure that one’s true, but he knows that absence makes them more desperate. One moment they’re still staring at each other, looking with eyes like a buyer, like a lover, like a collector appraising a piece before tucking it under dustless glass. And the next, they’re scrabbling at each other like teenagers.

Jeno’s mouth is hot against his. He carves a fire trail when they break apart for air, licking his way down the expanse of Donghyuck’s necks. And despite the anxiousness that has been sewn into his consciousness for the past month, the fear that it will all unravel like some unsightly seam, Donghyuck closes his eyes and lets his arms fall around Jeno’s waist. 

“Aren’t you gonna touch me?”

Donghyuck opens his eyes to Jeno’s face inches from his own. 

“Impatient today, are we?” 

Jeno licks his lips, and the gesture is casual, an afterthought, but Donghyuck can feel its effect in the ridges of his spine, the small of his back where Jeno’s fingers linger. 

“Hard not to be,” Jeno murmurs. His fingers skate to the hem of Donghyuck’s shirt, toying with the cotton between his hands. “Imagine how creative I was in those hotel rooms.”

Donghyuck laughs. He doesn’t have to imagine— he knows, well enough, through the pictures and the video calls and Jeno’s raspy voice on the other line. And now, by the expectant glint in Jeno’s eyes.

“Really? Here? In a broom closet?” 

Jeno scrunches his nose. “The irony isn’t lost on me.” He parts his mouth and this time Donghyuck can’t resist, his thumb moving to trace the swell of Jeno’s lips. They’re slick with lipgloss, a faintly pink sheen, and the glitter specks shine even under the dingy panel of light.

Mark is going to kill him for ruining Jeno’s makeup.

“But yes. Fuck me. Here. In this broom closet.” A pause. “Pretty please?”

And really, Donghyuck only listens because Jeno is asking so nicely. How can he resist when Jeno is looking at him with those puppy eyes, gold rimmed and sparkling? Donghyuck isn’t a monster. He’s only a man— one that delights the soft moan Jeno breathes against his neck as Donghyuck slips his hand under Jeno’s t-shirt.

“My pocket,” Jeno gasps out, syllables hitching when the cold metal of Donghyuck’s rings graze against his nipple.

Donghyuck complies and laughs when he feels the tell-tale aluminum foil. “You planned this.”

“Yeah. And you would know if you checked my schedule. What’s the point of sharing Google Calendars if you don’t even bother looking?” 

Another thing about distance: when you go from eight thousand miles apart to zero, you find that there’s a reservoir of words in your chest waiting to flow free. Every good morning that was swallowed by an empty space on the bed, every inside joke, every time you pick up the phone only to put it back down again because you just remembered the time difference. Donghyuck can feel it all, pressing against the cavity of Jeno’s chest, and on his own tongue, banter like bait on a fishing hook. But later. Right now, they’re operating on borrowed time. 

“You’re gonna have to talk a lot less if you want my dick in you anytime soon.”

“Mean,” Jeno huffs, even as he turns around to shimmy off his sweatpants (Donghyuck sighs at the expanding definition of “off-duty” these days) and brace his hands against the wall. “I thought you like it when I’m mouthy?”

“I do,” Donghyuck says. He makes quick work of his belt before rolling on the condom, tearing at the lube packet with his teeth. Jeno makes a noise of impatience and Donghyuck can’t take chances, especially not here, with his colleagues and peers and all those flashing cameras just one flimsy door away. Edging closer, he pushes his fingers against Jeno’s mouth, smile growing when he feels his lips part.

“But right now is a good time to be quiet, hm?”

The wet swipe of Jeno’s tongue against his finger tells Donghyuck Jeno isn’t quite complaining.

Rolling his eyes, Donghyuck presses a free, lubed up finger against Jeno’s entrance.

“So you really were prepared after all,” Donghyuck marvels, slipping another finger into the loosened ring of muscle as he twists his wrist. Jeno just groans, the sound muffled around Donghyuck’s fingers.

Beyond the door, the music rises, some obscure house beat that their tech director Chenle had picked out just the day before. The conversations outside seem to be getting louder, too, more frantic. There’s a buzz in the air, the pre-show adrenaline, and Donghyuck feels it in his veins, surging like raw wire when he finally pushes into Jeno. 

For a moment, there is stillness. Donghyuck knows both of them want to relish in it, the extinction of any distance left between them. They’ve become too attached in that way, but Donghyuck finds that he doesn’t mind, that the string Jeno had carefully wrapped around his heart all those years ago tugs him along with a searing tenacity. 

Then the tempo switches. Time ticks and Donghyuck moves.

So much for musings. Because the real truth, the only truth is here: in the tight heat of Jeno’s muscles, in the sweat beading under the collar of Donghyuck’s blazer, in the way his fingers grip Jeno’s waist, digging in because he knows Jeno will like it. Jeno whines, his saliva pooling between Donghyuck’s fingers, and the sound ricochets in Donghyuck’s gut like a firecracker.

“Faster?”

Jeno cranes his head back to nod. Donghyuck takes it as his cue to withdraw his fingers, not missing the silky trail of spit that follows. 

Jeno is a wreck. His cheeks are flushed, even under all that foundation, and the shiny remains of his lipgloss smeared around his puffy mouth. Donghyuck groans, knowing already that as soon as they step out of this closet, Mark is going to start manifesting his imminent death. But fuck it.

A part of Donghyuck, the part that religiously shines his tabi boots and keeps his first Chanel bag behind a glass case, wants to reach for his phone and snap a photo. To immortalize Jeno’s image forever, blow it up on a canvas and hang it above the mantelpiece. 

But this isn’t the first time he’s seen Jeno like this and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Donghyuck. Faster. C’mon,” Jeno begs.

“So needy,” Donghyuck mutters, though he’s already slipping back in, sinking into Jeno’s wet heat. He gives Jeno a moment to get his bearings, brace his toned arms against the patchy wall. Then he’s surging forward, drilling his hips to match Jeno’s rhythm.

It’s sloppy and frantic, every stroke more desperate than the last— but it’s enough. He can feel the sensation pooling in his gut like molten lava, every swivel of Jeno’s hips, every thrust pushing them further towards the edge, wherever that happens to be. The metal shelf stocked with cleaning products rattles as Jeno clutches it for stability, muffled moans escaping the hand he’s clamped over his mouth. 

When Donghyuck comes, it’s to the sound of Jeno whimpering against his neck as his own fingers stroke against Jeno’s cock. 

“Hey,” Jeno says in the afterglow. His muscles seem to have liquified, slumping against the wall as he squints at Donghyuck. 

“Hm?” Donghyuck hums, busy dabbing at Jeno’s face with paper towels he’d procured from the rack.

“Love you,” Jeno says and his smile is so radiant, so soft at the edges where it reaches his eyes, that Donghyuck knows he’d do anything to see it again, even at the threat of being buried in last season’s Michael Kors by one disgruntled Mark Lee. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi it's me again back with [squints at smudged ink on palm] more sappy semi-public sex but this time it's nohyuck? the way that this isn't even a kinktober entry........hah
> 
> also i don't work in fashion so to anyone that does and happens to read this [vague gestures] sorry if that intro is inaccurate
> 
> anyways happy u read this! or sorry it happened :>


End file.
